The Dixie Wasteland
by Falloutfan2281
Summary: After quite literally annihilating the Chicago Brotherhood of Steel, an Enclave soldier, headed for The Dixie Wasteland in the ruins of former Alabama, sets on a quest to unite Alabama under the Enclave name. The American name.
1. Prologue: War Never Changes

"Somewhere there's music  
How faint the tune  
Somewhere there's heaven  
How high the moon  
There is no moon above  
When love is far away too  
Till it comes true  
That you love me as I love you

Somewhere there's music  
How near, how far  
Somewhere there's heaven  
It's where you are  
The darkest night would shine  
If you would come to me soon  
Until you will, how still my heart  
How high the moon..."  
(Les Paul & Mary Ford - How High the Moon)

War. War never changes.  
When atomic fire hailed through the sky, many lives were lost, and the American way of life that was known and loved, was gone. Although America ceased to exist as a unified nation, many found a way to survive each day. Some took shelter in underground vaults that protected from the holocaust. Some took advantage of the lack of law and became raiders, who terrorized, pillaged, killed, raped, and maimed. Others became slavers, which was previously banned by constitutions worldwide and otherwise frowned upon. Others, simply, were vagrant wastelanders, looking for a place to call home.

You are an Enclave soldier, from Chicago, Illinois. Following the crushing defeating of the Brotherhood of Steel, the entire city was unified under the Enclave name. The American name. You and several others were then shipped to cities in the Hudson Wasteland (also known as New York City) and the Dixie Wasteland (in the ruins of former Alabama). You were one of many troops sent to the Dixie Wasteland to unify and secure the area under the Enclave name. There is no doubt there will be hindrances and roadblocks in your path. Some wastelanders think you are corrupt, tyrannical evildoers. Others believe you are godsend, and heroes of the wastelanders. None, however, will prevent your mission entirely, because all who oppose the Enclave will be removed... Forever. 


	2. Chapter 1: Miles' Backstory

Looking from the window of the Vertibird, I can see the clouds rolling in. Probably brown rain tonight. All my fellow soldiers are bored out of their minds, either drumming their fingers, or reading some copies of Milsurp Review or Future Weapons Today. Our pilot told us we were flying over Kentucky, and over Nashville soon as well. We'll be in Alabama soon.

Oh, sorry, I forgot to introduce myself. My name is Miles Barfoot. I am an Enclave soldier, from Chicago, headed on my way to the Dixie Wasteland. The date is April 21st, 2250, 173 years after the Big One. To pass the time, allow me to give my back-story.  
I was a farmer's kid. My dad ran the Barfoot farm, one of many agricultural facilities in the outskirts of Chicago. I tended the Brahmin herds from 5 am to about 10 pm every day, my brothers helped Dad with the crops, like maize, peas, carrots, etc., while my sisters helped Mom with dinner and cleaning the house. It seemed like the American Dream; hardly anyone bothered us (we got hit by Raiders many years back, but after Dad shot their leader dead in the eye, they didn't bother us much after that) and we lived in harmony. My live, however, changed for the better (and the worst) in November 8th, 2242.

That night, there was a knock on the door. When I opened the door, these men in power armor calling themselves the "Enclave" told me there was a "draft for all men between 17-21" to serve in their military. They told me they planned to revive America to its former glory and bring democracy to the wasteland. I had always been a patriot for my country, and when I heard this, I was excited. My parents approved of the matter (I had eight siblings anyways) and after saying farewells, I headed to basic training, in the ruins of Scott AFB.  
For six months, I trained, and learned proper marksmanship, power armor training, etc.. Since I had built my body from farming, I had a good start. The day I graduated from basic training was a moment I'll never forget. The ability to serve my country and fight for dear America was a dream come true.  
I was immediately sent back to Chicago, in an underground bunker in downtown Chicago, called Fort Earl. I was then placed in Infantry, my dream job in the Enclave. Life was grand, for a while. Then we encountered the Brotherhood of Steel.

Apparently these guys had been here since 2162 or something, but we both had different ideals. They wanted to recover pre-war technology, we wanted to recover America. We ignored each other for a while, but things became more and more tense. We disliked their interference in Enclave affairs, and they disliked our haughtiness and nosiness.  
We fought those power armoured Boy Scouts in war, until just recently. They had a good advantage over us, with their laser and plasma based weapons, and mowed us over. The causalities on our sides were high, theirs low. It seemed like all hope was lost. But that was all before we recovered some old nuke codes buried deep in Scott AFB, and bombed them into submission. Heh, that brings me back. We recovered all of their weaponry and armor, and claimed Chicago as our own. We established a democracy inside Chicago called New Cago, and accepted people of different shapes and sizes. Wastelanders, ghouls, mutants, etc. New Cago acted like any other pre-war American city, with taxes, private property, job opportunities, etc.. We still kept the bottle caps as currency, though.

If this sounds far different than President Richardson and his Enclave back west, that's because our leader in Chicago, President Randall, rejected all of their ideals. Randall, horrified by all of the supposed FEV experiments on wastelanders back west (somewhere called "Arroyo"), wanted to establish an America built on freedom and economic prosperity, not on fear, tyranny, and government experiments. The president talks about a democratic group back West known as the New Californian Republic, and he wants to be more like them. He dreamed of the States being united once again, under America. Under the Enclave. That is why we have shipped to the Hudson Wasteland and the Dixie Wasteland, to do America's deed.

Excuse me, that's the Vertibird landing. We've landed in Alabama.


	3. Chapter 2: The Worst Happens

As I disboarded the Vertibird, the sun's light blinded my eyes, and overwhelmed me for a moment. It was mid-afternoon, in the middle of a sweltering July. The pilot told us we had reached the pre-war city of Birmingham, Alabama. Well, what was left of it, anyways. Still, it seemed the city was not badly bombed as Chicago was; a lot of buildings actually remained intact. For the most part, at least.  
My commanding officer, Staff Sgt. Baker was giving a brief speech, but I wasn't paying any attention to him. I've heard enough of his shit, I think I know what to do by now. It felt so nice, absorbing the sun's rays and taking in the warm summer air. Maybe after my mission today, I'll relax in a nice hot tub, with my rubber ducky and toy boat...

An angry shouting snapped me out of my dreamy daze. "Specialist, I am not going to have to chokehold you for your incompetence, am I?" Staff Sgt. Baker barked. "I'll say this for the last and final time, WAKE UP!"  
"Right away, sir!" I shouted.  
"Alright then, soldier. Now, like I said to the rest of the men, you're going to get in the shuttle that will take you to Fort Rucker, where you'll get further briefing. Do I make myself clear?"  
"Yes sir!" I shouted.  
"At ease, soldier." Staff Sgt. Baker remarked. Everyone else laughed at me as soon as the Colonel was out of earshot.  
"C'mon, Miles. Pay more attention next time, you know Staff Sgt. Baker hates soldiers who stare into space," my friend Fred snorted. "You don't wanna get shit on your first day here, right?"  
"Ah, shut up," I replied, pushing him. Fred grinned.  
I met Fred in Chicago when we were both assigned in the same patrol group. We had a lot of common, we both loved our country, we hated commies, and we loved the nice cold taste of a Nuka-Cola. Although he was rather annoying and most of the time an idiot, he was a reliable and responsible friend to have around. My best friend.

"Come on, troops! Into the shuttle!" yelled Staff Sgt. Baker.  
The "shuttle" was a Chryslus auto from before the war. Except, it looked nothing like the ruined, exploding ones you'd see in Cago. Not only was it completely refurbished and renewed, but it had the Enclave logo on the hood. Neat.  
We boarded the shuttle and I just had to gaze in awe at the fact that we were riding in a Chryslus! I've always read books on pre-war automobiles, but I never knew the day would come true!  
No one else seemed ethusiastic about it, however, so I talked with Fred about Enclave matters for some time, and our topic came to Birmingham.  
"I dunno much about this city, but it housed the McWane Science Center, the Nuka-Cola factory, and its supporting farmer's market." Fred said cluelessly.  
"A Nuka-Cola factory? That's cool, but I doubt it hasn't been raided." I remarked, disappointed. "I could go for a Nuka Cherry right now."  
"Me too," Fred said dreamily, smacking his lips as if imagining to taste the irradiated soda.  
"Have you ever had Nuk-"

BOOM!

The car had suddenly overturned on its side, and everyone fell out of the car at once. I felt dizzy, and my head was spinning. Everything seemed like a blur, I saw fuzzy shapes, and heard shouts of anger and gunfire. I was too dazed to process what was going on, and I couldn't seem to find out what the whole ordeal was.

An arm grabbed my shoulder and threw me to safety.

"Fuckin' Raiders, man!" bellowed Fred, firing a Chinese Assault Rifle. "Fuck 'em, fuck 'em!"  
I reached for my laser pistol, christened "Big Iron", and shot it a couple times at a Raider who was clearly zonked on Jet.  
"It's go time! You're gonna die, you're gonna die!" the Raider sang. "You're gon-", he continued, before getting shot in the head.  
From what hazy sight I had, I saw there were two remaining Raiders left, compared to us six men in power armor.  
"Aww, fuck this! We're out!" one Raider screamed, as they tried to flee. A couple caps in the knee knocked them down, but not before one pulled out a .32 pistol and fired three shots at the Chryslus.  
"GET DOWN!" I screamed.

...

A deafening roar accompanied the small mushroom cloud that came out of the now smouldering ruins of the Chryslus, and I fell to the ground with a thud. Looking at my power watch, I realized I was crippled. I reached in my pocket for a Stimpak and administrated it to my legs. Getting up, I was greeted to a horrific sight. The other soldiers weren't very lucky at all. I tried looking for survivors, but to no avail; everyone around me had died...

"Miles..." a voice whispered feebly. It was Fred.

"Fred! Stay with me!" I screamed, running over to him, not caring if I attracted the attention of Raiders, Yao Guai, or any other generic Wastelander. Fred very weakly turned his head to me. "Stay with me, man!" I grabbed all the Stimpaks I had in my satchel and tried to heal Fred, but he stopped me.  
"Miles..." he groaned, pointing to his lower body. His legs were almost completely gone, all that remained was his thigh up. "Please... kill me now. I can't live the rest of my life like this."  
"I wouldn't do that to you! You know that!" I cried. "You're my best friend. I can't-"  
"If you don't kill me, I'll live a life as a fuckin' cripple. If you were a good friend, you'd end my misery. You won't feel guilt because I actually asked you to do this."  
I then realized he was right. It was selfish to not kill my friend, I needed to end his suffering. "We had a good run didn't we?" Fred grinned. "Taking out the Steelers in Chicago, and democracising the wasteland, I'm glad I got to fight alongside you, man." Pulling out "Big Iron", I loaded a Max Charge Energy Cell, pointed at Fred, and fired. "I'm glad I did too."

After ending my friend's life (I don't want to use the word 'kill'), I felt alone for the first time in years. It felt like there was a hole in my heart, a hollow patch of desolate, bleak nothingness. I've always felt empty, with drugs and alcoholism as an attempt to fill up that void in my heart, but my friend and my family later filled that gap. The fact that I shot my best friend who I consider brethren, this gap returned. These feelings would have to be observed later; right now, I had to find shelter, and better yet, call for a rescue party.

"Hellooooooo, wastelanders! This is your boy, Atticus, coming atcha! Hope you're doing great and are safe, because let's be honest, the world is shit. Now, for the news."

I'd advise y'all to STAY AWAY from the infamous dystopia of the National Fascist Neo-Nazi Nation of Frank. Unless you like totalitarian societies, mass genocide against ghouls and super mutants, the restriction on speech and rights, indoctrinating youth programs, one-sided propaganda, and all the like, then you're gonna have a bad time."

"Trading routes to Lahoma, the biggest trading city in the West, have been blocked off recently by those goddamned super mutants. Ugh, can't they just bug off somewhere else?"

"This is your DJ, Atticus, signing off for the night. Or am I? Haha, here's some Benny Goodman with 'Sing, Sing, Sing'."

The growling trumpet lines of "Sing, Sing, Sing" awoke me from my slumber. Cursing silently at the radio, I got out of the supply closet I was sleeping in and looked at my power watch. 8:27 PM. I had slept for six hours, six hours after when my squad and my friends were killed by Raiders.  
I grabbed my laser pistol and carefully exited the closet I stumbled into, leaving behind the Radiation King radio that was blaring full-out swing music. As I walked out of the former Smitty's bar building, I remembered the driver of our Chryslus said we were about 45 minutes driving from Fort Riley. Given our vehicle was in smoulders, and the Enclave wasn't answering my distress calls, I decided to walk the route to Fort Riley, on a trail of dust.


End file.
